


HERE BE GIANTS

by wajjs



Series: Across The Universe (vld fics) [26]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fae & Fairies, Giants, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Not Beta Read, The AU no one asked for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-14
Updated: 2018-12-14
Packaged: 2019-09-17 22:07:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16982667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wajjs/pseuds/wajjs
Summary: He’s too young to be anything but wise when he goes up to his mother, eternally beautiful, and asks:“Do you think giants exist?”She pauses in front of where she’s washing the dishes, elbows deep in lukewarm water and soap, and seems to consider the question before answering:“I don’t know. No one’s ever seen a giant before.”His eyes shine alight with millions of galaxies.“Well,” he says, proud, “I will be the first one!”





	HERE BE GIANTS

**Author's Note:**

> This literally started because someone mentioned micro/macro around me and then I went and made it wholesome...
> 
> this is also an au no one asked for but well I DELIVER IT TO YOU ANYWAY
> 
> EDIT: CAN YOU BELIEVE THERE'S ART!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! AND IT'S SO AMAZING!! Thank you so much Cata!!! (link to the art on [twitter](https://twitter.com/cissilian/status/1074154259040604160) / [instagram](https://www.instagram.com/p/BrbzhuoAKc-/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link))

 

 

**Here be Giants**

 

He’s too young to be anything but wise when he goes up to his mother, eternally beautiful, and asks:

  “Do you think giants exist?”

She pauses in front of where she’s washing the dishes, elbows deep in lukewarm water and soap, and seems to consider the question before answering:

  “I don’t know. No one’s ever seen a giant before.”

His eyes shine alight with millions of galaxies.

  “Well,” he says, proud, “I will be the first one!”

 

(...)

**in the threshold of your heart**

 

He’s young and his knees are bruised when he runs up to his older sister, Veronica, and asks:

  “Do you believe in giants?”

She doesn’t lift her head from her book when she says:

  “I don’t. There is no proof they exist.”

  “I’ll find proof!” he exclaims, in his eyes a map.

  “I’m sure you will,” his mother soothes his impulsive blood, “you can do anything.”

 

(...)

 

His name is Lance and he’s been training at night, at dawn, on his own, with his childhood friend. The bow is a gift from his dad, the cloak handmade by his mom, the arrows and well wishes from all of his siblings. He knows how to hunt to provide food for himself and his family, and he knows how to protect.

He turns around as he’s following the path leading to the forest to see his family there, in front of the house, looking at him. They look like a firm front of support, not only to each other but to Lance as well. They smile at him and wave and Lance doesn’t have to yell his promise of return, because they all know it’s a certainty.

The voices of the lake whisper at him as stars breathe in the night sky. They tell him stories of penance and cruelty, of danger and magic, of prejudice and life. They invite him to step onto the boat they had made for him, they entice him saying:

  “Come to our kingdom. You will be welcome. You can be king.”

Lance grew up knowing well enough never to follow the voices, and he’s smart to be polite when he says no. They forgive him with a warning:

  “There be giants in the land: giants of all kinds: giants of gold, of wine, of pride: true giants that have hearts. You ought to be wise and never take from them, for they will take back in kind.”

 

He takes one bite of an apple and sees that its core is rotten. It’s the last apple he has, and he’s still a few days away from the nearest town. Lance wraps his cape around him and gets his mind ready for the hunger that’s to come.

No one hunts in sacred forests.

 

(...)

**in the depths of the land**

 

Lance is warming his bones in the only tavern when a stranger sits by his side, mug of mead tightly held in his hand.

  “I’ve heard you are the fool chasing windmills.”

  “There are giants,” he smiles and stands up from his seat, picking up his weapons, “I just have to find them.”

  “Do you even know where to look for them?”

  “It’s not a matter of ‘where’. It’s a matter of ‘when’.”

 

When he leaves, the stranger mutters:

  “He doesn’t have a single clue.”

And he goes after him then.

 

(...)

 

His name is Kinkade and he’s a bounty hunter in between jobs. He’s been in that state for a while: no one’s hiring. He’s only passing by the town to get to the next one when he sees another traveler and overhears his words: giants, he seeks, proof they exist.

The old lady the traveler is talking to scoffs.

  “You’re out of your right mind,” she claims, “out of your right mind, I tell you—Giants! monsters used in children stories! How could they exist?!”

Kinkade remembers what a lord from the east wanted, remembers the money offered.

Maybe it’d be wise to follow this traveler for a while.

 

He chases after him once he leaves the tavern, coins still spinning on the table. The world outside the dirty walls is cold, the first offsprings of snow are falling. As he follows a trail of steps he remembers, remembers his lost comrades and the words of his own mother:

  “Beware of the snow, love, for in the snow your dad was lost. A frozen spirit took him away from us.”

Kinkade’s reckless when the ground is white and slippery. He’s a man different than his father. No frozen spirits ever take him.

 

They see each other from each side of the town square. The traveler waits for him to cross through it until they are face to face. Kinkade can’t help but think that the snow around them seems to dance.

  “You said you are going after the giants.”

  “I am,” the traveler smiles and follows with clear eyes a drop of white falling on his boot.

  “I’ll join you in the search,” Kinkade still tries to make their gazes meet, “If you accept my company.”

He hums and crystal blues meet warm browns. Kinkade’s heartbeat sings in odd tunes.

  “Of course. I’m tired of traveling alone.”

 

(...)

 

Lance tells Kinkade of lakes with voices and forests with glowing deers. The atmosphere is heavy with nighttime wrapping around them like an endless globe; the small fire they started is pitifully trying to hold up against its force… Lance tells him many things as they are both making more arrows out of whatever they have near. The weapons aren’t of excellent quality but they’ll provide in a pinch.

Kinkade tells Lance about frozen spirits and footprints getting lost in a track. He sharpens his short sword and sparks twist and dance in the new wood that’s burning. Kinkade tells him what he remembers, not thinking how he hasn’t told anyone about this in a long time, how it makes him miss his comrades. How the promise feels heavier with winter breathing down on their necks.

 

Lance whispers into the fire:

  “Send love to my family, send prosperity.”

Morning comes and they leave behind the coals that are no longer burning.

 

(...)

 **in the paths of your hands**.

 

Wind licks their backs as they travel east. They survive on cheese and onions when they can’t hunt: it’s unadvisable to do so in the blessed parts. They have a long way to go for them to taunt the fae so early on in their quest.

Kinkade looks at Lance’s profile and how the morning star frames him. The same odd tunes of before make a drastic return.

  “Why are you looking for the giants?”

Lance pushes a low tree branch to the side so that they can continue through the same path without disturbing nature. He bows his head and pays his respects to the ancient tree.

  “Because they exist.”

 

(...)

 

The castle is imposing and impossible to miss. They halt in the hill that lets them see the clear paved road leading to the entrance of the protective wall standing proud around it. In the hilt of the forest, in the edge between unadulterated nature and man-made order, there’s not a sound that can be heard.

  “Something happened here,” Kinkade talks, but Lance can’t quite listen.

 

They walk past the main doors with their weapons drawn. There’s no one guarding any threshold: the place looks desolate.

Their steps don’t sound like steps, the rustle of their clothes is an absence that’s much too strange. Lance sends a quick glance towards Kinkade, the silence is so loud he’s afraid Kinkade is going to get lost in it and then they’ll be alone again.

When he opens his mouth to speak, he discovers his voice is gone too.

 

Standing in front of the steps that precede the occupied embellished chair, they feel a ghostly hand squeezing their hearts. Mute as they are, they can’t even open their lips to complete the gesture of their gasps: the lord is in his place, but he’s not made of flesh: he’s all stone. Around him servants and merchants, going in and out of places, complete the mausoleum that time covered with dust.

Something happened here, Kinkade screams inside his thoughts knowing Lance can’t hear him, but he can understand. The certainty is cemented as they go through different rooms, different floors: every living being has been affected by the curse.

They reach a room and the gold is untouched. From wall to wall, from the ground to the roof, piles of gold sit there, shining like the sun. Here the silence feels deadly, feels heavy with bated breath and thirst. Kinkade’s eyes are lost in the gleam: he takes one step, two steps, closer to the mountains of wealth but Lance stops him before anything can happen.

 

Here be giants of gold: they took away the hearts.

 

(...)

 

In the forest just at the back of the castle their voices return like stars.

  “You saved me,” Kinkade breathes and Lance shakes.

  “I was scared,” he admits, and Kinkade hugs him.

It’s the first time.

 

It’s worse when they discover that the nearby town is petrified as well. No birds are singing, and the animals have all died. The doors of the tavern open before they even reach them, inside a sparkle of sunlight casts a crown on a desecrated head. Kinkade knows what Lance is feeling, and so he holds his hand.

  “We’ll fix this,” he claims.

  “The giants can wait,” Lance agrees. “This breaks my heart.”

 

Here be giants of pain.

 

(...)

 

Nighttime comes and it haunts them: they go deep into the forest to try and escape the desolation and death. Cloaked shadows keep following them and don’t leave when they will flames into existence. Lance never lets go of his bow and it’s while he’s staring into their hooded faces that he realizes: the shadows are the townspeople asking for help.

Around the fire they twist and shudder, the wood crackles and sparks go flying. Save us, they cry and Kinkade’s pale, save us, save us, save us, save us save us save us save ussaveussaveussaveussaveussave

  “How do we save you?” Lance begs as he’s sobbing, Kinkade can’t move.

  “How can we save you?”

  “Where do we start?”

  “What happened here?”

 

Dawn blinds them for one glorious moment. When they can see again, the shadows are gone. Kinkade falls into Lance’s arms.

  “We have to help them,” he whispers and Lance holds him close. “Help them like I couldn’t help my comrades. Like I couldn’t help my friends.”

Lance nods and presses a kiss to the top of Kinkade’s head.

  “We will help your friends too. We will help them too.”

 

The river welcomes them with tumultuous waters. A fae is resting nearby, they are tall and elegant and they’ve been waiting for them since before they even started their journey.

  “You seek giants,” the fae says.

Kinkade rolls his pants up to his knees and steps into the river. The water brings back his color.

  “You seek giants, and more giants you’ll find.”

  “Have you ever seen a giant?” Lance asks, carefully washing his hands.

The fae wrinkles their nose as they stand. Their cloak is made of leaves.

  “Hurry and leave the forest once you’re done. It took you much too long to arrive.”

 

They are knees deep in taint, fighting a fake religious idol, when Lance turns to him and kisses him. Kinkade freezes as his heart sings odes.

  “For some reason,” Lance smiles and hands Kinkade his short sword, “I think we were meant to come here, together.”

  “Are you implying we were meant to, like fairy tale heroes?”

  “No, not heroes,” those words let Kinkade breathe, “heroes don’t have happy endings that last for long.”

 

When they leave the castle and town behind, everything’s come back to life.

Here no longer are giants of pride.

 

(...)

**In your mind there be giants**

 

Lance’s mom receives a letter:

your son has been found dead.

 

(...)

**don’t let them through your door**

 

A faery stops to rest on Kinkade’s hands and Lance offers her water. It’s a hot summer day. Lately, the magical beings have gotten closer and closer: they’ve been away from civilization for that long.

  “Word of you keeps traveling through the trees,” she admits idly and greedily sips another drop. “You should stop while you’re young,” flying a bit over their heads, she laughs. “All the giants are gone.”

 

Kinkade buys Lance a beautiful broach in the market of the next town they visit. It’s bronze and shaped like a hyacinth, the details painted blue. Lance smiles and wears it over his heart: a reminder that he’s alive.

He’s cutting a slice of cheese when he asks:

  “What do you think they look like?”

His lover hums once, and Lance knows that he’s thinking of an answer. The next morning, they are up and walking again.

  “I think they look just like us,” Kinkade answers under the shade of a willow, “but their eyes are too sad.”

 

(...)

 

They find a sleeping princess with three faeries looking over her, one green, one yellow, one red. Her skin is dark and her hair is white: there’s a peaceful smile on her face.

They find a sleeping prince not too far away, covered in purple light: he’s missing his heart.

 

  “I think giants will have to wait again,” Kinkade says as they chase after a giant dragon. Around the being’s neck there’s a magical cage, inside lays a heart that still beats.

  “That’s alright,” Lance exclaims as he jumps to the dragon’s tail, “I’m sure they’ll understand!”

 

The prince and princess look at them and they know:

  “Go north,” the prince says, “follow the crystal river to its birth.”

  “Go north,” the princess agrees and turns to Kinkade, “you’ll find what you need to save your friends: a giant’s hair.”

 

(...)

**don’t let them get too close**

 

Lance finds a pigeon and the magical way to teach the bird the way to his home. Around one of the frail legs he ties a simple message:

There be giants in the land.

Kinkade is standing by the fire, making sure their food is cooking properly, when the tall fae from the river comes out of the bushes and stares with icy might.

  “You still aren’t hurrying your steps.”

Kinkade doesn’t dare to move: half crouching over the fishes, he attempts to subtly risk a glance at his lover, noticing that he’s nowhere to be seen.

  “We are getting closer,” he breathes one moment and chokes the next. The fae extinguished their fire, a long and cold hand is wrapped around his whitening throat.

  “You shouldn’t be wasting time.

  Don’t you care for your comrades now that you’ve found someone to hold?

  Don’t you worry for your friends now that you love?

  Ice will keep spreading in your heart until you rescue them.

  It’s a matter of time if human you’re to remain or not.”

 

The pigeon can no longer be seen flying in the sky when Lance returns. Kinkade is sitting on the floor, pale as ice, and their food has yet to be cooked.

  “Did something happen?”

Cold browns meet worried blues. Kinkade wants to cry.

  “No, nothing at all. Now help me start a fire again.”

 

Here be giants made of spite.

 

(...)

 

No letter ever reaches Kinkade’s town: the gone can’t read inked words.

 

(...)

 

This forest is different: they keep walking in circles and the eyes in the branches laugh at them with malice.

In the center there’s a cedar tree and to its trunk there are many weapons stuck: the weapons pin in place a body covered in moss. Silver hair sways in the wind that’s been trapped for centuries. It makes them forget their languages and their memories of warmth, sending them tumbling into eternal winter, into a place full of white, full of stars.

The tree turns into a landscape that never ends, the horizon keeps getting further and further away and they can’t catch it. It sends them reeling, it makes them tumble; their bows and arrows fall on the grass around their knees as the cedar keeps chanting.

Moss creeps up their boots and bites at their fingertips. In the snow, in the cold, in the depths of a cavern that no one and everyone has ever walked down before, Kinkade can see their reflection.

 

He screams and falls back into his body. Next to him, Lance is crying but his eyes remain unseeing.

  “No!” Kinkade yells his throat raw and claws the moss away, stopping it from getting to the inside of Lance’s mouth. “You’re not taking him too!”

Stop resisting it, the weapons whisper but he ignores them. Stop resisting, give yourself to the lull.

  “No, no, no!” he yells and screams and cries: he’s not known for that, but he’s all too knowing of being on the losing side. “You’re not taking him, you’re not—”

The body from the cedar comes to life with a wail. It has a yellow gleam where the eyes should be, though its face is blank like snow. When the sword pierces Kinkade’s chest and slices through his heart, he realizes that it doesn’t need to see, when with feeling one gets plenty of results.

 

Lance is stroking his cheeks and kissing his forehead when he comes back. His chest feels lighter, his lips are cold.

  “Why did you do it?” Lance whispers and he’s shaking, tears are pearls that fall and bless the grass. “Why did you give me your heart?”

He realizes that explains the sudden weightlessness. There is something to be said about sacrifice.

 

(...)

 

Between them there’s a distance that didn’t use to be before, not even when they first met. Kinkade can’t remember what it feels to be warm. Lance can’t admit he misses the way they used to hold hands.

There be giants in the land. There be giants in the land and they’ve taken and taken and taken, and Lance now realizes that it never mattered if he took as well: the giants were going to claim his everything anyway.

 

(...)

**don’t let them touch your soul.**

 

The map marks the end of the world. Lance looks out at the never ending sea and back at the silent stranger by his side. He no longer has Kinkade’s eyes.

The pigeon he sent never got back. Who knows how much time has passed, who knows if there’s hope they’ll ever find what they once set out to find.

  “Mom, there are giants in the land. They’ve taken my love, mom, they’ve taken his smile. Is this what Veronica felt when she lost the person who was supposed to be the one? Is this what you went through when you set out to sail to new lands?”

The stranger with a heart of ice looks at him and Lance starts to cry.

  “Mom, mom, there are giants in the land. I’ve found them, mom, I’ve found them and they found me in kind. You said I’d be able to, and I was, but you never said what they’d do to me, what they do to the stars.”

More tears keep spilling and he’s pouring out his pain, he’s pouring out his life. The stranger keeps on looking, looking, looking, but there’s no light in his eyes.

  “These are not the giants I dreamt of. These are the giants that are real and they’ve cursed me, mom. How am I to return to you, to come back, with this misfortune in my arms?”

He cries and he cries: the stranger remains a stranger and the night remains a night.

 

(...)

 

Sitting in the cooling sand of the coast, a boat approaches them at dusk.

Voices whisper: “We’ll take you to a better realm.”

Lance no longer has the will to be wise, but at least the stranger doesn’t leave his side.

 

(...)

 

Days go by...

Days go by...

Kinkade is made of ice…

 

(...)

 

During the birth of their second month in the water, Lance cracks: he cracks and laughs, takes the stranger’s hands in his own and begins to teach him a dance.

  “This is what we danced with the princess!” he grins and ignores how the stranger doesn’t move in the slightest. “This is how we danced with the prince!”

Through the rain and his tears he doesn’t notice: the ice in the stranger’s fingers is starting to melt.

 

(...)

**Here be giants,**

 

There’s salt in Lance’s eyelashes and a warming core in Kinkade’s arms when they reach land.

All there’s to see is the biggest trees they’ve ever seen. All there’s to see is the tallest grass they’ve ever felt. They’ve been travelling for so long, they forgot how big things are supposed to be. Away from home for so long, they can’t remember the size of existence but can tell you the distance with stars.

 

With each step they give, Kinkade keeps molting ice. The cold water that pools at his feet sparkles under the light of an odd sun. In the soft soil next to a river he starts to laugh for the first time in a long life.

  “Lance,” he whispers, reverent.

Lance throws himself into his arms.

 

Here be giants of heart.

 

(...)

**in the nooks of your spine**

 

They walk for days but find no town or lord: old ruins are easy to spot, wide paths that no one’s walked for so long there are plants growing in them. They keep walking and rest by the side of the paved road when night falls.

  “Do you think we’ll ever reach anywhere?” Lance asks as he tries to recognize constellations he’s never seen before.

  Kinkade covers the both of them with his cloak. “We just have to hold on.”

 

(...)

 

A cave appears before them and they both have the urge to turn back, to run and never return. There’s something ancient in this cave, an energy that taunts them and tickles their ribs. There’s something old and wise and not necessarily kind, and perhaps it’d be smart if they claim the end of their journey right then and there.

Which is why they hold hands and walk past the entrance into the maternal call.

 

(...)

**in the song of your blood**

 

They are older, much older when they reach the other end. The skin of their hands is filled with spots and folds, their joints ache, there’s wrinkles in their faces. Lance’s hair has silver interlaced in the dull brown tones, Kinkade’s eyes can hardly see anymore.

Their knees are stiff and their muscles have no strength; there’s loose skin around their necks.

Sunlight is harsh upon them as they step out into a clearing. At least it’s warm, their clothes are so worn out they’ve lost any capacity of protecting from cold.

 

Before they can know what’s happening, the ground starts to shake.

There, in the clearing, two feet larger than their bodies stop, and the sky sings with a soft, encompassing laughter.

  “Humans aren’t supposed to cross that cave. I’m surprised you’re still alive.”

 

(...)

 

Their frail and trembling bodies fit together in the gentle hand. They are much too confused to understand what’s going on, minds riddled with old age, when they are laid to rest in a glowing liquid.

A blink, two, and they’ve regained their strength.

 

(...)

 

  “My name is Shiro,” the giant says. He’s sitting on the floor, legs crossed, and he still towers over their youthful selves, he's taller than most of the trees. “I apologize that I don’t have much to offer you: it’s been a while since anyone’s visited.”

Kinkade is too busy clutching his bow to his chest to speak. Lance grins, delighted, and pats the part of the giant’s leg he can reach.

  “Shiro, I am so glad you’re alive,” he laughs then, bursting at the seams with happiness, “I’m Lance, and this here, he’s Kinkade.”

  “Is he alright?”

  Lance looks at his partner once and shrugs. “He’ll get over it in a while!”

 

Shiro tries his best to help them as they set up their camp, but his fingers are too big and they are too small. He leans over their tent, long hair cascading past his shoulders like a silken curtain, and as he intently watches their food cooking in the fire, Kinkade realizes the giant’s eyelashes are silver. When their eyes meet, it’s like he’s back in that town, when he saw Lance for the first time.

  “You can cast magic,” he says, setting pieces of wood nearby the fire, in case they need more, “right?”

Shiro hums and hovers his index finger over the flames, accidentally snuffing them out. Lance whines about it in the background.

  “I am magic,” Shiro replies with ease and laughs as Lance sets to restart the fire again only to yelp when Shiro presses his fingertip on the burnt wood to make the flames come back to life. “Is that why you’ve been seeking me out?”

  “My comrades—my friends,” Kinkade shudders, his cloak is acting as roof of the improvised tent, “they were cursed. During a hunt, we trespassed the house of a fae. They were turned to stone.”

  “And you?”

  “My heart was changed to ice… But… I healed once we got here.”

Shiro lays down on his side and pushes his long hair out of the way, letting it fall behind him and pool down with grace. He holds his head up with his hand and then he turns his eyes to Lance.

  “And you? Why are you here?”

  “Because you exist,” Lance sits down on a large stone and plays with a loose thread of his vest, “because it was a purpose.”

 

(...)

 

Kinkade keeps the single thread of Shiro’s hair safe in a cage that only he can open. He wishes his mother was there so she could see how much he differs from his father, her husband.

  “See, mom,” he whispers at night when Lance is sleeping, “the frozen spirit came for me and I never followed, but they never came for dad: that much they told me.”

 

(...)

 

Shiro takes them on hikes around the island. They sit on his shoulders because otherwise they can’t keep up, and Shiro’s been alone for too long to risk them getting lost. There are many traps, after all, many places they could fall into and lose their lives: magic has no good or bad, only performative consequences.

During their trips, Lance tries to braid strands of Shiro’s hair but never manages to do it. Kinkade looks at the horizon and breathes in the cleanest air he’s ever breathed: it’s crisp in his lungs, fresh, impossible to forget.

  “What happened to the other giants?” Lance asks as Shiro falls into silence after they walk past yet more ruins. They know now that they just walked past what was once a house.

  “War,” Shiro’s voice is distant as he speaks, “sickness. Death.”

Kinkade’s soul seizes. There are new odes that his heartbeat forms.

  “You mean you’re the last one of your kind alive?”

  “In truth,” and Shiro stops in front of an old altar, “I was dead until you found me.”

 

(...)

**in the crack of your smile.**

 

A full moon greets them. Shiro looks up and grins at the sky, his two humans sleeping peacefully in the safety of his hands.

  “I know they have to leave,” he sings in a mournful whisper, his language one that is lost, “I know they must go. I know they have homes and duties, I know they have an anchor. But please, moon, for all you’ve taken from me, let me have this: a moment longer with them, more time to be with them.”

He’s grinning even though he’s crying. The moon never replies.

 

Lance teaches him how to dance in the rain. The three of them are completely soaked and a small rainbow forms as a halo over Shiro’s head.

Kinkade smiles at him and offers him a fig. It’s so small in his hand, Shiro wants to treasure the gift forever.

 

(...)

 

He sees them kissing from the hill he’s on. The world all around him crumbles into silence, and he can’t hear them, not even when they call his name.

 

Distance proves to be dangerous: Lance runs to him, he’s been stuck in the same place for days, sitting on the floor, letting leaves collect in his hair and birds build nests on his ears.

  “Shiro!” Lance sounds desperate and Shiro opens an eye, lashes heavy with spiderwebs, “Shiro, please, we—we need your help. Taint—Kinkade fell in taint!”

The birds squawk, outraged, as he gets to his feet faster than he ever knew he could.

 

Under the ruins of the altar there’s a secret path, and the humans were daring enough to explore it. Before Lance could fall into the tar, Kinkade switched their places: his screams can be heard from far away.

Shiro never wants to hear those screams again.

 

The spirits of the giants gather around them and they take the harm they’ve caused to Kinkade.

  “We didn’t mean to,” they speak in a myriad of voices, “with the taint is hard to stay in control.”

  “Thank you for remembering us, Shiro.

  Thank you for honoring us.

  You need to help our kind, Shiro. You need to save the one to come.”

 

(...)

 

Kinkade falls asleep in Lance’s arms, on top of Shiro’s shoulder, as they begin their new journey. They had time to make new clothes for themselves and repair their battered cloaks: Shiro warned them they are going to one of the coldest islands up north.

He finishes writing the seven symbols around the circle and says:

  “Hold on!”

Next thing Lance knows, Shiro’s created a spark with the two magical rocks and suddenly they are surrounded by light. It’s a wonder how Kinkade does not stir as winds pick up and a distant howl thrums… being exposed to taint surely takes a toll.

 

With every step, Shiro’s heart keeps breaking:

even here, all the giants are gone.

 

  “It’s like that place we saw,” Lance breathes and it turns to fog, “when we found that tree, when because of me you were lost.”

  Kinkade looks around them from their perch on Shiro’s shoulder and he attempts to remain calm. Those are not good memories. “If there’s a cave—”

  “There is one,” Shiro points out, interrupting whatever Kinkade is trying to say, “and inside it we must go.”

 

They discover Kinkade has been having too many nightmares, even when ice took his heart.

 

(...)

 

Shiro’s cry of despair resonates throughout the barren and cold land:

He cries in pain and in grief in front of a mountain of frozen rock and snow, a skull resting on top of it, cracks in the bones glowing and sizzling with remaining taint.

Even here, war broke out.

 

  “That’s where Ulaz used to live,” Shiro points at a group of oddly shaped rocks, his voice elsewhere, “he was… he was one of the guardians of this haven.”

  “One of them?” Kinkade rests a hand on the giant’s cheek, offering comfort. “How many were they?”

  “Just a few. They were all scattered so that they could scour all of the land. If he’s gone, then…”

Lance shivers before he swiftly slides down Shiro’s shoulder and his arm, stopping at Shiro’s elbow and waiting till the giant helps him on the ground. There, he marches forward to the pile of rocks, knowing there are two sets of eyes watching him as they follow.

In front of the first rock, he sets his broche down and pretends that neither he or Kinkade can hear Shiro’s sobs.

 

They are resting as nighttime catches up to them in the small shelter provided by the roof of an outcrop formed by large stones. The fire Shiro started is mostly to keep his humans warm as they rest in the palms of his hands.

  It’s just as they are starting to doze off that Lance nuzzles his thumb before saying: “No matter what, Shiro, you’re not alone. You have us.”

The moon shines bright in the dark sky.

Shiro believes them.

 

Kinkade is looking at the ocean in front of them, standing dangerously close to the edge of the cliff… close enough to make Shiro hover nearby, ready to catch him if he's to fall. Kinkade is looking at the ocean and not at Shiro, and that’s why he can muster up the nerve to talk.

  “You said you are made of magic,” they both look as Lance perks up from where he’s building a snow human, interest caught, “is from it how all giants are born?”

 

And that’s how they find them, as they follow the coast. Finishing the route Thace, another fallen guardian, would’ve followed, they find a soft glow. Under a pile of stone and bones taint vanishes into ashes, under all of that an emerald orb protects them: the one to come.

  “Well,” Lance stands on Shiro’s shoulder, holding onto a strand of hair, “I guess our quest led us to fatherhood. That is certainly something my mother did not expect.”

 

(...)

 

It’s time to say goodbye.

 

Shiro stands in front of the cave that guided Lance and Kinkade to his presence, now a baby in his arms.

They kiss his cheeks from their place on his shoulders. Shiro’s heart sings with notes that go high.

His humans.

His lovers.

The ones who brought him back to life.

 

“Let’s go, Shiro,” Kinkade says and Lance nods, pointing in the right direction. The way back home.

Shiro gladly follows.

 

(...)

 

Here be giants:

in the truth of your breath

in the shine of your hands

in the rhythm of your dance.

 

You are the giant,

look how far

you've crossed the land.

 

You are the giant,

look how much

you've loved the stars.

 

(...)

 

Lance’s mom drops the plates in her hands as tremendous thunder gives way to blinding light.

When her eyes can distinguish shape again, she sees them: her son, and the ones in her son’s heart.

 

°

 

**Author's Note:**

> i did not proofread this so if you find any kind of spelling mistake/typo, please let me know!
> 
>  
> 
> [my twitter in case anyone wants to come and talk to me about this au](http://twitter.com/wajjs_)


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